


Unexpected Arrangements

by Bold_Cherry



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bold_Cherry/pseuds/Bold_Cherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tall, dark, beautiful bassists with easy smiles and a good sense of humor really aren't fair, are they?<br/>Ryan certainly doesn't think so when he, more or less accidentally, goes on tour with Panic! At The Disco and finds himself in quite an unexpected situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> /runs away cackling

When Ryan was asked if he wanted to join the Honda Civic tour as a supporting act, he immediately said yes. His solo album needed as much promotion as it could get, and this was a perfect way of getting out there with his new work, his new songs - His new self.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later he found out that the headlining act was none other than Panic! At The Disco.

It’s not that he hadn’t talked to Spencer and Brendon since the split - Not at all. They had spoken a lot at first, after the initial few months of needing to be away from each other. It was only within the last two years or so that the contact had died out. Nothing had happened, they’d just grown apart. As you do. He always wondered why the fans had to make it out to be such a big deal, when it never really was to them. Obviously, leaving a band that had been his life for half a decade was hard, but the actual issue that caused it was never as intricate or difficult as everyone apparently wanted it to be. They literally just grew apart; They wanted different things. What honestly hit Ryan the hardest was when he figured out that he and Jon wanted different things as well. He had, honest to god, thought that The Young Veins were going to be big; _Be_ something. However, that was not what happened, and looking at Jon today, the music he makes, reassures Ryan that even though it hurt, even though it was tough - It was right.

He can’t pull out of this tour though. He just can’t. He needs the publicity, needs the experience of playing in front of crowds alone. Needs the money. Plus, he already said yes, it has already been announced; There is no way out. He’s just going to have to deal with it.

 

“Fuck,” Ryan mutters under his breath when the Panic-guys enter the conference room. All of the acts for the tour has a meeting with the organizers to talk about dates, venues, set-lengths and all of the practical stuff Ryan never really cared about when he was in a band. He has to care about it now that he’s a solo-act though, seeing as he has to know these things himself. Before, he always depended on Zack or the other guys in the band knowing where they were going, where they were playing, all that stuff. Things have changed though, and he feels a tiny sense of relief knowing that he will have to pay attention to the meeting, and won’t be able to sit there and let his thoughts drift to the four men sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

Brendon looks different. More grown up, Ryan thinks. He’s had a haircut, the black locks now pulled back into a sort of poof on top of his head, with the sides a little shorter. He’s wearing a plain, white t-shirt, black jeans and black-rimmed glasses. He smiles and nods at Ryan when their eyes connect, and Ryan returns the gesture. Brendon seems a lot less bouncy and hyperactive than Ryan remembers him, and he quietly decides that it is a good thing. It used to get on his nerves quite quickly. He always thought it hilarious that kids were so determined that he and Brendon had something, because seriously? Brendon was never Ryan’s type. Ever. He likes his guys to be more quiet and laidback but with a brilliant brain and even better humor. The kind with genius one-liners, you know?

Anyway. Moving on. Ryan still denies all rumors of him being gay, because he is _not gay_ , okay. Bisexual, yes, since always. But not gay. He would have admitted that too, if anyone had ever asked.

Spencer looks more grown up as well, and he’s lost weight. It suits him, he looks good. He’s wearing dusty-black dress pants, a gray t-shirt and a blazer to match the pants, and Ryan smiles a little at the stylishness. Spencer catches it, smiles back, and Ryan thinks that maybe this tour won’t be so bad.

He remembers Ian from back when they used to hang out with The Cab. He looks the same; Shorter than most people Ryan has met, a mess of curly hair, and a big, white smile, that he flashes at Ryan. If that’s what it’s going to be like, smiles and polite acknowledgements, Ryan can definitely deal with this tour. It might be fun, even. The second supporting act is a new band, fresh out of the Chicago scene, consisting of four young guys, and one even younger girl, who has an accent that sounds European to Ryan. They’re called Industry of Affection, and Ryan listened to some of their stuff a few days ago; They’re good. Young, new and inexperienced, but good.

The last of the Panic-guys sits down right opposite Ryan. He’s the only one of them Ryan hasn’t met and doesn’t know at all. He knows his name is Dallon Weekes, that he plays bass and has his own band, but that’s kind of it. Ryan actually wasn’t even sure what he looked like, until now. Dallon is tall, way taller than any of his bandmates, his hair is a dark-brown color, the sort that may look black in the right light, and his features seem a lot more.. Manly, really, than those of the rest of the band. He’s wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt that subtly show off the muscles in his arms and without meaning to at all, Ryan hums appreciatively.

He catches himself in the middle of it and quickly looks down at the table, desperately fighting the blush that’s threatening to turn his cheeks pink. It really would be just like him to start pining over the new guy in his old band. Dumb, risky and not very rewarding.  
Luckily, one of the organizers clapped his hands, gaining the attention of everyone present. He welcomed them to the meeting, and dove straight into talking about dates and cities.

Predictively, Ryan is bored half to death about 30 minutes later. The practical aspects of touring just, honestly, had never interested him at all. He’s surpressing a yawn when the organizer mentions, “Busses” and looks at Ryan.  
“Ryan, since you’re the only solo artist, we’re probably gonna put you on the tech-bus, unless you have a solution of your own?”  
“I, uhm, no, that’s fine.” he stutters, taken aback by suddenly being talked to.

“There’s room in our bus,” Dallon says nonchalantly, out of nowhere. Ryan’s head snaps to stare at him, then quickly turns away again because god, he really looks quite hot sitting there, leant back in his chair, arms loosely crossed, hair a little messy and a friendly, lopsided smile aimed at Ryan.  
Ryan swallows and once again, wills the blood to stay away from his face.

Brendon laughs and lightly punches Dallon arm,  
“Frisky, dude.”  
Dallon shrugs and grins at Brendon, relaxed, easily, making Ryan clench his jaw at how annoyed he is with himself for finding him so attractive.  
“Just an offer. I mean, tech guys can be pretty rough.” Dallon says.  
“They ain’t the only ones.” Brendon mutters, winking at Dallon who waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling his eyes fondly, and turning back to Ryan.  
“I’m serious though.” he flashes him a smile and Ryan wishes really hard that he’d just stop _doing_ that, because fuck, he’s not making it any easier for Ryan to keep his composure here.  
“I, no, thanks, I’m. I think I’m good.” he manages.  
Dallon just shrugs and looks back at the organizer, who nods and says,  
“Well then that’s settled.”

 

The first show of the tour is in San Francisco, and Ryan decided to take the train there. He always liked trains, for reasons he doesn’t really know himself. It allows him to zone out with his headphones on, and the landscape rushing by on the other side of the window; There’s something hypnotizing, even quite therapeutic about it.  
On this ride though, his thoughts circle around the same subject that they have been for the past two weeks. There were a meeting or three more after the first one, and each time, Ryan had to fight to keep his attention on the organizer and _not_ on Dallon Weekes, who continuously took the seat opposite Ryan and kept sending him those easy, lopsided smiles that made Ryan feel a little mushy and weird inside, like he hand’t felt in quite a long time. He’d really like to shake the feeling anytime now, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. Having to practically live with him for the next two months probably won’t be very helpful either, dammit.

 

It definitely isn’t helpful, Ryan realizes, when he stands side-stage and watches Panic dive into their set. He finished his own about two hours ago, Industry finished theirs approximately thirty minutes ago, and the headliners finish off. Ryan notices how it isn’t hard or weird to watch his old band play without him; Really, he enjoys it. They’ve gotten better, Brendon is definitely different from how he was on stage just a couple of years ago, and that fact that Ryan is standing on the left side of the stage, Dallon’s side, definitely makes his experience enjoyable. He is really trying not to _stare_ , but it’s so difficult. He bites his lip hard, and with a sigh, decides to let it go, and shamelessly stare at too-short jeans, bare feet in leather shoes, light gray shirt, dark red bowtie, black jacket, dark hair falling in eyes he now knows are an annoyingly brilliant blue color, and long, strong fingers grabbing a heavy-looking bassguitar, flicking over the strings with that kind of practiced ease you get from playing for the better part of your life.

A coupe of songs in, and Brendon walks up close to Dallon, grabs the back of his neck and leans in, so close that only the microphone in Brendon’s hand is keeping their lips apart. Ryan’s fists curls at his sides, without him noticing it, and something cold knots itself in his stomach. It lingers for a couple of seconds before they break apart, and Ryan realizes what that feeling was; Jealousy.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he silently shuffles away from the stage and hurries into his dressing room, dropping into a chair. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hooking his arms around them and pressing his face against his legs.  
He tries to focus on his breathing, tries to let that be the only thing filling his mind, because hot bassists are way too distracting, and a way too dangerous area to move into. This has to _stop_ , Ryan decides. He knows what it feels like to be falling for someone, and usually, he’s let it happen, because more often than not, it would be mutual, and when it wasn’t, well, that was great material for songs. But this, this is not allowed. It will, inevitably, fuck things up that should not, at any cost, be fucked up.

Ryan exhales deeply and mutters, “Fuck.” to the empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

One week later, and things are really going downhill for Ryan. The shows are great, touring and performing again feels amazing, but when he’s not on stage, there is constantly something - or rather, someone - occupying his mind, and that something is currently standing on the edge of the hotel pool with water dripping down his slightly toned torso and sunrays reflecting off of the beads. His hair is sticking up every which way, and there’s a bright, amused smile on his face as he bickers with Brendon, who’s in the water, about something Ryan can’t really hear, because he is honestly far too busy drinking in the sight of _Dallon in only shorts_ and trying to look like he’s still reading, like he was when they arrived and disturbed the peace, that really weren’t there to begin with, at least not inside Ryan’s head. Spencer and Ian, and the practically-teenagers from Industry, are off doing whatever, and Ryan had counted on having a few quiet hours to himself, to try and clean up the chaos that’s been going on in his mind for three weeks, but of course, after merely half an hour, the main subject of his current racing thoughts (and a couple of jerk off-fantasies in the past few weeks, but he’s not admitting that) came waltzing down to the pool area, in shorts and a white t-shirt that he swiftly pulled off, because that’s just how Ryan’s life works, isn’t it?

“You getting it all, Ryan?”  
He is ripped from his swirling thoughts by Brendon’s sudden yell, and Ryan realizes that, yes, he was staring, even though he was trying so hard not to. It’s been happening a lot in the past week, and really, there is no way the others haven’t noticed yet. There is no way Dallon hasn’t noticed.  
The playful smirk and lightly raised eyebrow on Dallon’s face tells Ryan that yes, he has noticed. Fuck.

“I, well, I,” he tries, and dammit, he just never seems to be able to form a sentence when Dallon’s around. Which really is quite unfortunate, because he is around a lot. It has already happened a few times that Ryan has been sitting in the backroom of a venue, talking to Spencer, who he immediately hit it off with again, or Alec, the guitarist from Industry, and conversation will be flowing and easy, right up until the point where Dallon, and usually Brendon too, enter the room, and Ryan’s brain seem to stop, his throat close up, his tongue tying itself into knots. He has seen Spencer sending him suspicious looks a few times, and he really wants to somehow explain that it’s not _Brendon_ who’s doing that - Because he is quite sure that that is what Spencer thinks.

Luckily, Brendon just laughs, and swims off, shouting something at Dallon that Ryan doesn’t catch, as he curls up in his chair and hides his glowing face in his book.

 

“You were really good tonight.”  
Ryan jumps about a foot in the air and nearly drops his Coke-bottle. He swirls around in his chair, and sees Dallon standing there, leaning against the doorframe of Ryan’s dressing room. For once, without Brendon in tow. He instantly feels his throat close up and his heart speeding up to beat about a mile a minute.  
“I- Thanks.” he manages and inwardly curses himself for the squeaky pitch in his voice. Dallon sends him a small smile and gestures to the empty chair next to Ryan, silently asking. Ryan nods and bites the inside of his lip, looking down at his hands, twirling the bottle.

“Look,” he starts with a sigh, sitting down in the chair, and Ryan thinks _ohgodohgodohgod_ because this _has_ to be about the staring and the stuttering and the blushing and the _obvious_ crush, he’s going to tell Ryan, “No offense, but I’m straight.” or something equally humiliating, he’s going to tell him to knock off the creepy staring, he’s going to tell him to stay the fuck away from him, he’s going to..  
“I know this whole arrangement must be really kind of weird for you. I mean, probably for Brendon and Spencer too, but they’ve got each other, and you’re going solo.” he has this small, friendly smile on his face, and his eyes look so warm, and Ryan simultaneously wants to laugh in relief, and curl up in a ball on the floor and die.  
“But I’ve noticed that you always seem so.. Skiddish, around me, you know?”  
Ryan swallows and nods, failing to keep the blush away this time.  
“I just wanted to let you know that, you know, you really don’t have to be nervous or something, around me.” Dallon’s smile widens a little and Ryan bites the inside of his cheek.  
“I’d like to get to know you, you seem like a great guy. And I mean, it seems you’re cool with Spence and Bren already, so.” Dallon shrugs, his smile turning a little sheepish and sort of, shy, almost.  
“I’m, uh,” Ryan starts, then tries to swallow the lump in his throat “I’m sorry, I, I just,” curse his heart going crazy and his hands sweating, and curse that look on Dallon’s face right now, looking like a puppy that just got stepped on its tail.  
“Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s cool, I’ll just,” he says and starts to get out of his chair.  
“No!” Ryan almost yells and grabs Dallon’s arm. 

There’s this weird moment where Dallon looks down and Ryan looks up, and Ryan’s breath hitches just a little because _those eyes_.  
“I’m sorry, I’ve just been,” he starts again and Dallon slowly sits back down “Nervous, yeah, I’m just.” he takes a deep breath.  
“You know, Spencer and Brendon seems to think you’re like, really awesome, and I just. It just made me a little nervous, you know?” he says, feeling his cheeks burn. It’s not really the truth, but close enough.

A small, lopsided smile appears on Dallon’s face.  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, you seriously don’t have to be nervous. Just, you know,” he shrugs and looks around the room as if searching for something to say “Be yourself, yeah? That’s usually the best way to go about things.” he winks, and it looks like a reflex, like it’s just something he does when he’s being good-natured and laidback, but it still makes something flutter in Ryan’s chest.  
“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m sorry, really, I,”  
“No, hey, look, don’t be sorry. I get it, I would have been weird about it too.” he’s grinning now.  
“Alright,” Ryan swallows and tries for a tentative smile “Thanks for not, like, getting mad, or anything.”  
Dallon laughs and places a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as he goes to stand up, shaking it in a friendly manner.  
“Hey, first thing to learn about me; I don’t get mad about anything.” with that, and another wink, he leaves the room.

Ryan sinks back in his chair, placing his hands over his face and breathes out unsteadily.

 

“Spencer?”  
“Hmm?” Spencer hums from where he’s sitting on a couch in a backroom at the venue in Whatever Town, eyes trained on his phone.  
Ryan clears his throat and sits down next to him on the sofa. They’d pretty much picked up where they left off in their friendship, which makes Ryan endlessly happy. Losing Spencer had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to experience, even if he honestly hand’t really realized it until they met again.  
“Uhm,” he starts “Why is Brendon always following Dallon everywhere?”  
Spencer looks up with a raised eyebrow and Ryan feels the embarrassment set in.  
“Like, it’s just. It’s kinda like a puppy in the heels of its owner, don’t you think?”  
It is true. Ryan noticed it pretty quickly; Practically anywhere Dallon goes, Brendon follows. Always hot on his heels, always talking, cracking jokes, obviously doing anything he can to make Dallon laugh. It’s gotten Ryan slightly weary, because he knows that Brendon doesn’t at all play for that team, but then again, it has been a while since they really were close, and a lot have changed.

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh, and puts down his phone.  
“Alright, yeah, you should probably know.” he says.  
Fear and a pang of jealousy washes over Ryan. No way, Ryan thinks. Brendon has a girlfriend, Ryan knows he does, it can’t possibly be that he and Dallon are..  
“Dallon’s wife left him, like, three weeks before this tour started.”  
Ryan blinks, “What?”  
“Yeah, for some actor-dude, I don’t know. It was pretty out of nowhere. Brendon’s just trying to keep him happy so he doesn’t fall into this, like, black hole of self-loathing and depression, he tends to do that when things don’t go his way.”  
Spencer glances at Ryan, looking amused.  
“Kinda like you used to, actually.”

“Oh.” Ryan breathes. He didn’t know Dallon was married, but that definitely rules out any chance of his crush ever being anything. Which is a good thing, he reminds himself. It shouldn’t be anything, ever.  
“Yeah, so. I know people say the same things about them as they used to say about you and Bren, but one is as true as the other.”  
“So not true at all.” Ryan says, and Spencer grins at him; warm, familiar.

 

“I gotta say, I have a lot of respect for what you do.”  
Ryan looks up from his guitar to grin at Dallon, who’s sitting on the couch opposite of the one Ryan’s sitting on, chin in hand.  
They’re about a month into the tour now, and even though Ryan is still nursing a ridiculous crush on the guy sitting in front of him, it’s gotten easier. Spencer is still easy to talk to, Ian is as bouncy and giddy as Ryan remembers him, and though Brendon has calmed down a lot, he’s still loud and smiley, and he still makes Ryan laugh. The youngsters in Industry kind of keep to themselves. Ryan figures that, seeing as there is six people in that band, they must have enough in each other.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.” he smiles at Ryan “Seriously, solo artists are hardcore bastards. I mean, no band to back you up, it’s just you and your guitar.”  
Ryan shrugs and looks down at his guitar again, smiling.  
“You have to have respect for that.”  
“Thanks.” he says quietly.  
“No problem.” he can hear the happy grin in Dallon’s voice.

After getting a hold of himself, he discovered that Dallon really was one of the most easy-going people he’d ever met. He might not talk a lot, but when he does, it’s always something brilliant that has Ryan’s ears perking up, making him feel a little like a cat. His humor is as dry as the desert Ryan grew up in, and it never fails to make him snort a laugh. Sometimes, Dallon will get lost in his own thoughts, and he’ll just sit there, drumming his fingers on his thigh, humming something under his breath and staring off into the distance. Ryan think he looks the most gorgeous when he does that.

 

Touring means interviews. Ryan always hated that fact.  
“So, touring with your old band. That’s got to be weird, huh?” the interviewer asks, a supposed-to-be-endearing smile on her ruby-red lips and a twinkle in her dark green eyes that makes Ryan uncomfortable.  
“Uh, yeah. It was weird at first, but I mean,” he shrugs “We never stopped being friends, I guess.”  
The interviewer nods, “So you talk? Hang out? All that?”  
She’s so obviously fishing for a good story, and Ryan resists the urge to roll his eyes.  
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s really relaxed and all, no big deal.”  
“Alright, thanks for your time.” she says, barely covering up her disappointment.

Every single interviewer has asked the same questions since the tour started. They all want to know just how awkward it is, how much they fight, how much they hate each other, some even have the nerve to hint to the old rumors about Ryan and Brendon, and Ryan feels like punching each an everyone of them after every interview.

He doesn’t realize that his fists are curled at his sides, or that he’s scowling, when he goes back into the venue, until a hand is on his shoulder and a concerned voice asks,  
“Hey, are you okay?”  
Ryan turns and looks up at Dallon’s face, slightly edged with worry.  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, deflating a bit “Just, damn journalists pissing me off.” he mutters, crossing his arms. Dallon nods, says, “C’mon.” and leads him into Ryan’s designated dressing room.

 

“You always seem pissed after you talk to journalists.” Dallon says, sitting down in the chair in front of Ryan’s. Ryan shrugs and reaches for the coke bottle on the table.  
“Never liked it. Always the same questions. Always rude and like, intimidating.”  
Dallon nods, “What do they ask you? I mean, they’d have to be real mean to get you this angry.”  
“Just. You know, they all want to know how awkward this tour must be, and all that shit. And it’s like they don’t even believe me when I say that it’s not!” he can feel himself get winded up but _seriously_ , the _nerve_ some people has.  
“Some of them are even rude enough to start asking about me and Brendon!” he sets his bottle down on the table again, harder than strictly necessary.  
“Uhm,” Dallon says, and Ryan looks over at him, to see him biting his lip and looking down.  
“It’s bullshit. It always has been.” he says, a little softer than intended. Something like relief appears on Dallon’s face, and he looks up, shaking his head.  
“Journalists are just after the good story, man. You of all people would know that.”  
Ryan huffs and sinks back in his chair.  
“Yeah, I just wish they’d stop. It’s annoying.”  
Dallon laughs and shakes his head with a huge grin.  
“God, you’re so cute when you’re pouting.”

Ryan blinks up at him.  
“What?”  
Dallon’s face falls; His eyes widen and his cheeks turn bright pink.  
“I, shit, fuck, sorry, I,” he stutters and starts to get out of his chair.  
“Sorry, I, I didn’t mean to,” he’s halfway to the door when Ryan snaps back to reality and shoots out of his own chair, rushing over to grab Dallon’s wrist.  
“No, hey,”  
“I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t-”  
“What’d you mean by that?” Ryan says, tugging at Dallon’s wrist. Please, he thinks. Please, please, _please_.  
“I, I just,” Dallon stammers. He’s never been the one having trouble speaking in front of Ryan, but right now, as he’s staring down at the floor, cheeks burning and pulse beating rapidly under Ryan’s fingers, he’s obviously fighting for something to say.  
Ryan can’t fight the grin off of his face.  
“You think I’m cute?” he says, only teasing a little.  
“I-I’m sorry.” Dallon says in a weak voice.  
“Don’t be.” Ryan answers, slowly sliding his fingers from Dallon’s wrist and into his hand. He’s being bold, but _come on_.  
Dallon looks up at him with confusion evident in his eyes. Ryan takes a deep breath, lets it out again, bites his lip and laughs a little, before saying,  
“You’re pretty cute too.”  
It feels like being a teenager again, a very young one at that, it’s like being fourteen again. They’re standing there, tentatively holding hands, both blushing like crazy, and not daring to look at one another.  
“You think so?” Dallon says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  
Ryan shrugs and lets out a small, breathy laugh.  
“Honestly? You’re probably the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” his face feels like it’s going to melt off, but he can’t stop himself from saying it. He’s been thinking it ever since he first laid eyes on Dallon, and he doesn't know how to ignore it, or suppress it.

Dallon squeezes his hand a little.  
“I always thought you were beautiful.” he says quietly “In all the pictures and videos and stuff. It took forever for me to learn to play all the songs, ‘cause I always got distracted by how amazing your lyrics are.” Dallon’s cheeks are positively burning too, and Ryan thinks his own face might break in half before it melts, he’s smiling that big.  
“Really?” he says.  
“Yeah.”  
And Ryan, he seriously can’t help it. He reaches for Dallon’s other hand, squeezing them both lightly, then leans up on the balls of his feet, and presses his lips to Dallon’s, gently, sweet and soft.

 

It’s the first time he catches Dallon standing there, on the side-stage, while Ryan plays his show. Just standing there, smiling, at the edge of Ryan’s vision.  
He knows he’s standing right in the corner of Dallon’s eye too, when he watches them play.  
It’s slightly weird, Ryan thinks. No one would ever be able to tell that the bassist jumping around stage, playing until his fingers must be close to numb, letting a singer grind up against him, no one would be able to tell that a couple of hours earlier, he’d had his hands on Ryan’s hips, squeezing just a little, had been standing inbetween Ryan’s thighs while Ryan sat on the dressing room table, his hands burrowed in Dallon’s hair, the two of them fused at the lips, kissing slowly and softly, until Ryan’s lips were tingling and his head was spinning, and someone yelled that they had an hour to get ready for the show.

 

Someone decides that everyone should go out to party that night, seeing as they’re in Boston, going to Montreal tomorrow, and therefore doesn’t have to be back early for bus-call, because they don’t have to be at the airport that early.  
Ryan doesn’t miss that Dallon says, “No thanks,” and goes back to Panic’s bus. Feeling a little like he shouldn’t, he declines as well, and waits until everyone has taken off, before knocking on the door of a bus that he already has entered hundreds, maybe thousands, of times.  
The door opens, and Dallon smiles down at him. He’s changed into sweats and a t-shirt, and Ryan bites his lip quite hard, because he looks really cute like that, with his hair all messy.  
“Can I come in?”

Bunks are in no way big enough for two people as tall as Dallon and Ryan. That honestly doesn’t bother Ryan all that much though, seeing as the limited space allows him to press his own body tightly against Dallon’s, locking his arms around Dallon’s neck, enjoying the way Dallon wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.  
They make out for what feels like forever and not long enough at all to Ryan. He eventually pulls away and lays his head on Dallon’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling a warm, secure hand carding through his hair, and just thinking, “I should get back.” before falling asleep.


End file.
